


Killing the Space in Between

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 15:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18606994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: Bucky Barnes doesn’t think he’s being dramatic when he says this is the best meal he’s ever eaten in his entire life.He’s got the biggest slice of pizza, and you. You’re across from him, smiling as he tells you about the stupid shit he and Steve used to get up to in their Brooklyn neighborhood, your head propped up in your hand as you hang on his every word.This is– it’s a day he never dreamed he would have.Takes place after Civil War, but Bucky doesn’t go to Wakanda right away. The gang’s all healing together. Enter our Reader.





	Killing the Space in Between

Bucky Barnes has sweaty palms.

Well,  _one_  sweaty palm. He would chuckle at his own joke if he wasn’t so nervous, glancing down to where you’re practically pressed against him on the train.

The train lurches as it comes screeching to a stop, and he grits his teeth as you sway against him, sending him an apologetic smile as he automatically wraps an arm around your shoulder, steadying you.

God. He’d be ready to flee if you weren’t so  _nice_  and so  _warm_  and looking at him–  _oh_. You’ve been talking, he realizes, and he feels so off kilter. He can’t stand it, but sort of in a good way.

“Sorry,” his voice is gruff even to his own ears. “What did you say?”

“I was just saying thanks for agreeing to come with me. I know you don’t like crowds.”

_But I like you_ , he wants to say. He doesn’t. “Sure, it’s no problem.” He makes a face at himself when you’re not looking. That’s all he could come up with? God. Sam is never going to let him hear the end of this. Steve either, for that matter. If word gets back to them about what an awkward idiot he turns into around you, he’s finished.

He’s still a little unclear on where you’re taking him, but he jumped at the chance to get out of the Tower for a day. It’s a little suffocating there. He knows everyone is trying to help him, but there’s still too much tension between he and Stark, and Steve’s– he’s trying his best.

It’s hard for Bucky to know he’s disappointing his oldest friend every day he can’t pretend to be the man he was when they were in their twenties. He’s seen too much. He’s not the same person, and he knows part of Steve is always going to wish for that version of Bucky.

When Steve found him in Budapest, he barely had two weeks of being relatively back in his own head before he had to fight for his life, for the life he wanted to have.

You were there too.

_**A year ago…** _

_Steve is banging on the door, Bucky’s right arm locked in his tight grip. Bucky feels woozy, he feels like his brain is being pulled apart. Steve keeps looking over his shoulder and curses under his breath before knocking again, this time harder._

_The door is pulled open. You’re there, hair disheveled, a bruise blooming on your cheek and a cut on your temple. “Sorry- had to check.” You say, and then you’re ushering Steve and Bucky inside._

_There are no introductions, not really._

_Steve is semi-panicking. Bucky might not have a solid grasp on Steve anymore, but he can read the tension radiating off the other man._

_“I need to hide him here. No one knows about this place.”_

_“Stark?”_

_“It’s his tech. That’s why I need you to stay here. He shouldn’t look for him here, but that’s the least of our problems. Someone’s tailing him - they think he set off the bomb. I’ll set the alarm when I leave–”_

_“Leave?!” Your voice is high pitched, “Steve–”_

_“I have to try.” He steps closer, voice low. It’s clearly not meant for Bucky to hear, but he does anyway. “He saved my life. We took some fire at the apartment – he wouldn’t have done that if he was still trying to kill me and everyone else.”_

_You look wary, but nod. “Okay. Okay. I– Steve, Tony’s serious about this.”_

_“I know.” His voice is firm, but Bucky can tell Steve’s more upset and rattled than anything else. “I have to go figure out what to do next. The only other person I want you to let through this door is Sam.”_

_Bucky is overwhelmed. Too many names, too much going on inside his head to make sense of. He feels like he’s going to be sick._

_“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Just– keep him comfortable.” Another step closer. Definitely not meant for Bucky to hear, “Keep your gun on you always. Don’t go anywhere without it. Don’t let your guard down.”_

_You swallow hard, but you don’t look scared. Bucky finds himself wanting to smile as he watches you roll your shoulders back and straighten, determined._

_“Be safe, Cap.”_

_A squeeze of your shoulder and an indecipherable look back at Bucky, and then Steve is gone._

_A few uncomfortable seconds pass before you look at him, clearly nervous but trying to hide it. “Are you hurt?” You ask, and Bucky’s knees feel weak._

_When is the last time someone asked him that?_

_“I–” His voice is weak, rough with disuse. “I don’t know.”_

_“I’m a nurse,” you tell him. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but if something’s hurt, you should let me help. We might be stuck here awhile.”_

_His heart is hammering. He’s– he feels fear, and he’s not used to that. He’s used to not feeling much at all. But you’re– the kindness in your eyes is sending him spiraling. He’s afraid what he might do. He shakes his head, almost violently._

_“Okay,” your voice is soft, placating, “Okay. I won’t touch you. We’ll just wait here for Steve, okay?”_

_**Now** _

Bucky wonders if you’ll ever know how much of a help you were to him that day. You never did anything without his permission, but you stayed close. You respected his boundaries, and you kept an eye out for him, for any sign it was all becoming too much.

When Steve and Sam came back, it was simultaneously the worst and best thing that ever happened to him. They were on the run. There was a rogue Hydra operative trying like hell to unleash the Soldier everywhere they went.

He had to face the truth about the Starks. The fight with Tony.

But in the end, Steve offered him a home, a place to recover. That meant he had to face his past, though. He didn’t want to. He didn’t trust himself, or anyone else, even Steve.

But you were there too. You helped, and Steve’s friendship never wavered. Soon he had a tentative friendship with Natasha too, forged by a shared past that they both never liked to speak about. He had a weird, wonderful new alliance with Sam.

And you. You were– he doesn’t want to put a name to what he’s feeling, because it’s too much, and he’s not ready for that yet. Not yet.

He forces himself back to the present.

You both walk in comfortable silence down the street, and Bucky’s so,  _so tempted_  to let his hand bump into yours, weave your fingers together, hold on tight and just let himself drown in the comfort he feels when he’s with you.

You look lovely in the early winter morning - you’re bundled up in a puffy coat, a scarf wound around your neck, and a knit hat on your head. He wants to memorize all the details of this morning and keep them locked away, so he can revisit them whenever he’s feeling lost.

“I thought we’d check this out– the exhibit is– I don’t know. I thought it might help.” You say, bringing his attention to where you are. The New York Historical Society. “Two of Brooklyn’s golden boys… it’s a wonder they didn’t dedicate the entire museum to the both of you.” You say, smiling, talking about him and Steve.

Bucky smiles but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think he deserves to be remembered like this.

He follows you into the museum, trying not to scowl at everyone who turns and looks in his direction, some with awe on their faces, some with clear trepidation. You insist on paying his admission, even when he protests, but the sparkle in your eyes won’t be denied.

If he wasn’t so anxious, he’d actually be really enjoying this. He’s always liked learning and history in general, and there’s so much he’s missed - he could spend hours here and never know enough.

He can tell when you’re close to the exhibit. You walk a little closer, a little slower, chewing on your bottom lip. “If you get freaked out, just say the word,” you say over your shoulder, leading him on. “We’ll get out of here the minute you say so.”

He clears his throat. “I trust you.” He says. And it’s the truth. You look momentarily surprised, but try to hide it. You’re  _adorable_.

The exhibit is everything he hoped it would be and nothing like he expects all at once. It’s similar to the one Steve’s taken him to in Washington. It’s a little overwhelming - the music, the voiceovers… the photos. His memories come to him in flashes, more now that he’s recovering.

The exhibit with the uniforms is startling. He knows they’re replicas. Whatever happened to his blue coat after he fell… he doesn’t want to know. But seeing it there, seeing all of them there, the Commandos… it’s a lot. He doesn’t know why he’s so emotional. But he  _misses_ them. He has flashes of laughing around a fire, of the ear-splitting sound of artillery and the adrenaline of making it out of a fight, the relief of seeing his friends alive and well.

He’s aware of your eyes on him.

You try to act like you’re looking at other exhibits, giving him space and time to take everything in at his own pace, but it’s the opposite of what he wants right now. He wants you right there beside him, he wants to grip your hand, he wants you to tell him that he’s done alright with his life, that none of this is his fault, that–

“Hey.” Your voice interrupts the beginnings of what he suspects would have been a panic attack. “Doing okay?”

He looks down at you. “Yeah.” His voice is thick with unshed tears. “I think this is enough for one day,” he says gently, still not used to saying what he’s feeling or drawing boundaries for himself. “Can we–”

“Let’s get something to eat.” You say immediately, brightly, your enthusiasm drawing the dark clouds away.

“I feel like you had ulterior motives for getting me out of the Tower,” he says, elbowing you gently.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, prim, and he laughs. It feels– going from feeling this unavoidable sadness to cracking jokes with you… he can’t put it into words how it makes him feel. Light. Unburdened.  _Happy_.

.

.

.

Bucky Barnes doesn’t think he’s being dramatic when he says this is the best meal he’s ever eaten in his entire life.

He’s got the biggest slice of pizza, and you. You’re across from him, smiling as he tells you about the stupid shit he and Steve used to get up to in their Brooklyn neighborhood, your head propped up in your hand as you hang on his every word.

This is– it’s a day he never dreamed he would have.

He knows he still has to face the music in terms of his recovery. There’s the trigger words, and whatever other shit they put in his head that he’s got to find a way to get a hold on. But he feels better knowing he actually has people on his side that want to help him.

Steve’s been talking about the Avengers. About Bucky, and having a place for him there, for as long as he wants one. He’s been talking about helping people, saving people… it seems like a dream.

And then there’s you.

You’re always there, eyes shining like diamonds, a bright smile there to greet him whenever he comes into a room. If you were ever afraid of him, you hid it well. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful for anything than he is for meeting you, your friendship, and your gentle affection.

He wants to– he wants to tell you things. He wants to say things to you that are probably too much, too soon, but he wants to say them anyway. He wants to tell you that his heart beats faster when you’re around. He wants to tell you that he thinks about you all the time.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, eyes on your plate as you grab another slice.

**“Are we on a date right now?”** He blurts, and immediately regrets it. Your wide eyes meet his, and god, he wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. “You don’t have to answer that. Sorry–”

“Do you– do you  _want_  it to be a date?” You ask, sounding a little nervous yourself, and Bucky can  _feel_ the spirit of his mother practically smacking him in the back of the head for being such an idiot.

But the truth? He  _does_  want this to be a date. He’s scared as hell. But still, he wants it.

“Can I tell you something embarrassing?” You ask, not waiting for him to answer. Letting him off the hook.

He nods.

“I have the biggest crush on you.” There’s a blush on your cheeks and you duck your head, and Bucky has never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his entire life. “I know this is the worst timing – you’re still going through so much, and I’m so happy just to be in your life–”

“I–” He interrupts you, not even sure what he wants to say, but knowing he can’t let you think that he doesn’t want you. “I like you.” He admits, and can  _hear_  Steve’s snort of amusement in his head. He’s Bucky Barnes. The Winter Soldier. The Fist of HYDRA. And he tells you he  _likes you_?!

That blush is still there on the apples of your cheeks though, so he takes it as a good sign. “I’m not… sure how to do this anymore. It’s been awhile.” He says, wry, and beams at you when you laugh in return. “I just know that I like the way I feel when I’m with you.”

You reach for his hand across the table, slowly, giving him enough time to move away if he wants to. He absolutely doesn’t.

“I feel that way about you, too.” You tell him. “We– we can go as slow as you want. We don’t even have to do anything else besides this.”

“I can think of a few other things I’d like to do.” Bucky replies quickly, and  _there he is_. The James Buchanan Barnes he thinks he was once, the one who was confident and sure.

“That was terrible,” you say, but the smile on your face is worth it. He thinks he’d do anything to see you smile like that more often. Your face and your voice softens, “Let’s just take it one day at a time, okay?”

On the way home, there’s absolutely no space between the two of you as you walk to the train station, hands clasped tightly together. No space between you on the train either, one of his arms slung around your shoulders as you sit.

He’s going to walk you to your room tonight, but he won’t kiss you. Not yet. He’ll save that for another day.

_One day at a time_ , he thinks. One day at a time.

.

.

_There’s a diamond sky that’s waiting for us just outside of town_  
_With the moon hanging for me and you, baby_  
_We can cut the headlights out when there ain’t no one else around_  
_Kill the space in between, slide across that leather seat_  
_Heart to heart, face to face, you know all I wanna do  
_ _Is get closer, closer, closer to you_


End file.
